


oh, what a strange magic

by acacias (vervains)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blink And You Miss it Magical Realism, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Smoking, Snow, Swearing, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28430547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vervains/pseuds/acacias
Summary: it’s a foolish hope on donghyuck’s part, but he’s always been a little drunk on optimism when it comes to mark.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 11
Kudos: 86
Collections: NCTV Secret Santa 2020





	oh, what a strange magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galaxy_neozone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxy_neozone/gifts).



> okay. i severely underestimated the things i had to do these past two months and as a result this fic is very short, but i still hope it's to your liking! i went with the first prompt while also adding in a tiny bit of angst from the second one and trying to hint at a bit of magical realism. i've also never written markhyuck before so this was a challenge haha! 
> 
> also, this is not beta read because i didn't have enough time so any and all mistakes are mine. that being said, i hope you enjoy this! thank you for letting me write your wish, and merry christmas! <3

The cabin is fucking freezing, and Donghyuck is starting to regret this. Mark is curled up on an armchair, has been the whole day, nose in his book and thoughts buried too deep for Donghyuck to read. They’ve been here for the better part of three days, physically closer than they have been in a long time, but he’s never felt further from Mark. 

It’s not that he’s cold—he could never be. But Donghyuck feels the distance, and it whistles louder than the wind outside, beating the snow into a thick, white pile against the walls of the cabin. It belongs to Mark’s parents, and they used to spend the holidays here, breaking off fir branches to make wreaths and getting tangled up in Christmas lights.

Donghyuck thought that if anything, this place could fix whatever had severed between them. He pulls at the old Christmas lights, but ends up tangling the wires even further. Looks up at Mark, the way his hair seems to glow in the firelight, and his heart clenches. He pulls at the lights, and swears at the knot that forms.

“I could use some help here,” he calls, trying to sound cheerful. Christmas spirit, and all that.

Mark looks at him, and his lips twitch, eyes twinkling in that familiar smile. Donghyuck’s glad to see it, even if he’s technically being laughed at. 

“You manage to mess it up every year,” he teases, and the embarrassment is worth it, especially when Mark’s hands brush his own, fingers deftly undoing the knots Donghyuck made. Patient and soothing, far better suited than himself to patch them back up together.

But for some reason, it’s Donghyuck taking the first step. He doesn’t know when things began to go awry, but somewhere along the line, they’ve started growing apart. And Donghyuck’s not ready for that, not ready to let go of Mark, even if holding on means hurting him. 

He takes the way Mark sits closer to him than he needs to as a good sign. It’s a foolish hope on Donghyuck’s part, but he’s always been a little drunk on optimism when it comes to Mark, and he doubts that’ll change anytime soon. In a way, maybe that’s their only constant.

—

Donghyuck wishes he has better control—that he doesn't let Mark’s every action dictate his emotions. He’s never in between, always too hot or too cold, too sensitive or too uncaring. And Mark’s moods have changed lately, going from awkwardly endearing to slightly withdrawn. It’s like neither of them can decide where they stand, and Donghyuck figures it’s his fault. He was, after all, the one who chose to go to a college away from their hometown.

It wasn’t as if they didn’t meet after that. Donghyuck comes home every few months and Mark visits sometimes, but between the lessening frequency of their facetime calls and Donghyuck’s new friends at college, Mark has become harder to read. As a kid, Donghyuck could always call his next move, but now Mark surprises him more often than not.  
  


  
He supposes they’ve both grown.  
  
  


He went to bed planning to trek to a nearby lodge, the only place within walking distance with cell service where he could call Jaemin and get him to pick him up earlier than he’s supposed to, but Mark had other plans. Over at the small kitchen area, he swears as the oil crackles and pops in his pan. Another surprise. Mark can’t cook, but Donghyuck woke up to see him struggling at the stove.

“You could have just woken me up,” Donghyuck had said, admiring the faint stubble on Mark’s chin and the way his shirt hung off his shoulders, revealing the slope of his collarbones.

“You always do this, so I figured I would do something for you,” was Mark’s response. After that, he doesn’t bother telling him that the bacon is a bit burned or that the eggs are too seasoned. He’s weak when it comes to Mark, and the slight bitterness in his throat matches the feeling he gets whenever he stares too long at him.

“You remember the last time you tried to cook for me?” 

Mark snorts, but has the grace to look embarrassed. “Bake,” he corrected. “It was your 18th, and Johnny convinced me that it was a good idea. Looking back, that was a sign that it wasn’t, I guess.”

Donghyuck fakes a shudder at the memory. It wasn’t _that_ bad, just a little sad and underdone, but he’d eaten two huge slices (and then suffered for it). “I can’t believe that was three years ago,” he murmurs.

“I missed your last birthday,” Mark recalls, his smile dimming. “I still feel bad about that.”

“Please. We’ve had this conversation.” Donghyuck fills the silence between them with words because he doesn’t want the awkwardness to take up space. “Shit happens.”

“I guess,” Mark says, sounding unsure. His next confession comes out in a rush. “Sometimes I wish I had just come with you. College together would have been fun.”

Donghyuck’s heart caves, because he imagined that scenario for so long that it took him a while to get used to something else. Roaming campus grounds with Mark, showing him the one huge birch tree people claimed was a lucky charm, cramming for finals together, getting shit-faced at parties with Jaemin and Chenle. It’s a wish he stopped making after last year.

“We’re still best friends though,” he states, but Mark doesn’t brighten like he hopes. Instead, his eyes focus on a spot above Donghyuck’s shoulder. His smile is wistful.

“Always,” he responds.

Donghyuck decides he won’t call Jaemin after all.

—

Donghyuck has been in love with Mark long before spending winters at the cabin. He was always too eager, rushing into things with no thought, and falling in love with Mark happened in leaps and bounds instead of a gradual climb. It began with a boyish awakening and bounced all over the place, over the highs and lows of their life. The last time they came here, he almost let that rush of affection out.

Almost grabbed Mark and kissed him in front of the lake outside that’s not quite frozen now as it was back then. Mark is different now, but he still makes snowmen the same way he did when they were younger, their pebbly smiles almost mocking Donghyuck. And he supposes he’s still that same kid, because he bends, bunches up some snow in his hands and chucks it at Mark in a tribute to the past.

“Hyuck, what the—,”  
  


  
His reflexes are too slow. Donghyuck catches him right in the face. Mark swears, but his shoulders shake and Donghyuck’s laughter echoes throughout the clearing. They’re way too old for this, but his legs take him away from his friend, dodging the snowballs he pelts his way. His lungs burn, and so do the muscles in his calves, but the running is worth it when Mark finally catches up to him.

He _tackles_ him, and Donghyuck thinks of that time when he’d decided not to confess. His back hits the snow, and Mark is above him. Mark, his entire face red and his blonde hair falling into his eyes. They’re fixed on Donghyuck, and he looks ridiculous but beautiful at the same time. Reminiscent of some strange piece of art he’d have studied in college.

“If I get sick, I _will_ pass it onto you,” Mark grumbles, and Donghyuck admires the flecks of snow that have settled over his eyelashes. Maybe it’s his words, or the way his hands are so, so warm on Donghyuck’s arms, but he gives into that same feeling that had possessed him when he was younger.

“Do it then,” Donghyuck whispers. Heart in his throat, heart in Mark’s hands. Always.

Mark falters for a second—he sees it in the way his eyes darken, and Donghyuck’s heart sinks. Years of preparing himself for the blow has done nothing to lessen it, and the cold begins to bite at him again. His smile comes too easily, too wide at the corners.

“You’re so fucking serious,” he chides, and flicks some snow at him. Mark barely flinches, still on top of him, knees on either side of Donghyuck. “We’ll both get sick if you don’t get off me, genius.”

Mark doesn’t move, and the intensity of his gaze makes Donghyuck forget that the cold is stinging his cheeks, his wrists, every part of him that isn’t covered in fabric or _Mark_. He forgets to speak, which is a first for him, but not entirely unpleasant.

“I hope you meant what you said,” Mark finally mutters, and Donghyuck doesn’t have time to ask him what he means. 

He doesn’t even have time to shut his eyes, gasp, anything, because Mark’s lips are both warm and freezing at the same time, and it feels like the world which had been slightly off-kilter this whole time has finally been put right. Mark tastes like the rhubarb pie his mom had sent over, and something else that Donghyuck can’t even think about because Mark is kissing him, and he’s dreamed of this for so long, he almost forgets to kiss back.

“I meant it,” Donghyuck whispers when Mark pulls away, his face colouring in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. “Could you...do that again?”

“What happened to getting sick?” Mark asks, although his eyes keep drifting to Donghyuck’s mouth in a way that’s supremely satisfying. He doesn’t register anything aside from the fact that Mark wants this—the culmination of all of his birthday wishes, 11:11s and second-guessing. It’s almost too much to handle.  
  
  


“I don’t care,” he states. When Mark kisses him again, closed-mouth and tentative, he thinks he wouldn’t care if he disappears right there.

Melts right into the snow.

—

They don’t talk about it.

Donghyuck is both surprised and not. They let it hover between them as they decorate their mini Christmas tree, Donghyuck hanging up old baubles while Mark handles the lights. They leave it unspoken while unwrapping their presents (Mark got Donghyuck some old jazz records and Donghyuck got him a recipe book) and during the car ride back, Jaemin filling up their silence with chatter of his own, somehow knowing not to point out that Donghyuck can’t look Mark in the eye.

Donhyuck thinks this is it when they drop Mark off at his dorm, Jaemin loitering in the parking lot as an excuse to smoke, and Donghyuck with both hands stuffed deep in his pockets lest he tries to do what he almost did years ago. Mark’s nose is buried in his scarf, and the lights of the building behind him colour him gold. 

“I’ll drop you a text when I get to the apartment,” Donghyuck says finally, having scrambled for words that aren’t sad, that don’t betray the pull he feels towards Mark, so far from being platonic.

Mark nods. “Merry Christmas, Hyuck,” he whispers. It isn’t snowing here, but Donghyuck is too cold.

He allows one last proper look at his face, memorizing the high forehead and cheekbones, the small nose and the shape of his ears. Even though his scarf hides it, Donghyuck knows the curve of his lips, has felt their softness. He doubts he’ll feel them again, but isn’t that exactly why he deserves a final moment of weakness?

“Merry Christmas, Mark.”

It takes three steps to cross the distance between them. Three more seconds to unravel the scarf from around Mark’s neck. His lips are downturned and cold, but they warm at Donghyuck’s kiss. The old fear makes him think he’ll push him away, but Mark’s arms wind around Donghyuck’s waist, letting out a muffled sound in the back of his throat that Donghyuck _feels_ through their kiss.

He savours it, the difference from their first kiss a couple days ago—Mark clutching onto him as if afraid of him leaving, the juxtaposition of the softness of his lips and the urgency of their movements. This time, Donghyuck’s in control and he’s determined to cement this feeling in his head. If he can’t have Mark, he’ll at least have this memory.

“Sorry,” he breathes once they pull away, his breath clouding in the air. Mark’s scarf lies on the ground, stark red against the snow.

Mark’s eyebrows scrunch, and it’s painfully adorable, but he can’t focus on it with the thudding of his heart. It’s so fucking loud. “For what?”

Donghyuck backtracks, tripping over his words. “I...I don’t know. I messed things up.”

Mark looks confused for a second, and then he starts laughing. Soft, incredulous laughter that ties Donghyuck’s stomach up in knots. He takes his hand and squeezes it, looking a little embarrassed but resolute. “Hyuck, you’re acting as if I wasn’t the one who kissed you that day.”

Donghyuck’s voice comes out a bit strangled. “You were doing a pretty god job of pretending it didn’t happen.”

“That’s because you would barely even look me in the eye.”

“But—,”

Mark shushes him. “I kissed you, and you kissed me back. It’s as simple as that.”

Donghyuck’s throat grows dry. Mark’s eyes are gentle as he stares at him, as if drinking him in the same way he had done during their kiss. “I missed you, Hyuck. It took me too long to realize how much, and I had to do something.”

Donghyuck blinks. “So you...want this?”

The question hovers tentatively between them. Mark plays with his fingers, skin soft and warm. Donghyuck only realizes he’s holding his breath when his chest starts to burn.

“For a while now. Do you?”

Donghyuck’s waited for this for ages, but maybe he’s waited so long that he doesn’t want to believe it’s actually happening. Can’t believe it. So he throws around the fact that made him bottle up his feelings all this time, what he told himself that day in front of the frozen lake, their shadows dancing across the icy surface.

“You’re my best friend.”

Mark smiles, and that’s when he knows. Donghyuck would have seen it coming as a kid, but adulthood has made him doubt too much. 

“And you’re mine, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be anything more,” he points out. “If you want to, that is.”

Donghyuck wants to laugh because it really is as simple as that. What he yearned after for all those years is finally in his grasp. He just has to reach out and take it.

—

Jaemin’s cigarette has almost burned out when Donghyuck returns. He eases off the hood of the car, the worry that’s been building in his gut since Donghyuck left to see Mark off receding when he notices the scarf wrapped around his neck, frayed ends lifting in the wind.

Mark’s scarf.

Jaemin smiles, the end of his cigarette sparking. He crushes it underfoot as Donghyuck reaches the car, his face breaking off into the widest smile, his laughter disbelieving. Relieved. It catches Jaemin too, infectious and happy, dangerously close to a Christmas miracle, though Jaemin would never say it out loud. 

So he just lets Donghyuck launch himself at him in a hug, shaking a little from what he imagines as laughter and something else. He pretends not to see the glimmer in his eyes, instead looking up at the sky. The stars are out tonight in force, a sea of lights so bright that Jaemin almost misses it, misses the telltale streak of a shooting star.

He grabs Donghyuck’s arm, pointing it out to him. “Look, make a wish!”

Donghyuck shakes his head. “I’m letting this one go. I already have all I want.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes, grumbling about the waste of a shooting star. But he can’t stay annoyed when Donghyuck is grinning, carefree and happy, back to how he deserves to be. So Jaemin shuts his eyes, makes his own wish. Silently sends it out to the stars, like he’s done every year since they met.

Tonight has proved they’re listening after all.

fin.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: it was always the two of them against the world, until life conspired to tear them apart. perhaps all they need is a holiday miracle to bring them back together and remind them of why they started.
> 
> title taken from [this song!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0e9-p65H8VI) do leave a comment or kudos if you liked this! get in touch with me below:
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/dawnblushes)   
>  [cc](https://curiouscat.me/vervains)


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